From the Ice
by APH Teutonic Knights
Summary: Steve-centric one shots. Only the first movie has happened, and the Avengers are living together- there's only one thing off, actually. No one knows Captain America's actual name- or that he has one. Meanwhile, Steve's having a very hard time recovering from the fact that he's so far in the future, and no one knows or cares about his name. But the team will be there. Ice melts.
1. Chapter 1

_**So. I know those of you who read my other stories, from this account or the other, are probably furious. I apologize. The truth is- although I don't think I've lied- the way I write stories, I need to bounce between them, going back and forth so I don't go off onto a weird tangent on a story out of boredom. Therefore I actually have about thirteen stories currently. Most ranging from twenty-thousand to fifty-thousand words. I know that sounds ludicrous. This is a new one. I have been needing to do this, and will probably make this into a series of oneshots, all connected. I will tell you guys if they're seperate. I doubt they will be. This will be something pretty AU. Only the first Avengers movie has happened- and there's something very different. No one knows Steve's name- Steve Rogers. They also greatly underestimate him. Yeah. I went there. This is going to be pretty Steve-centric, and yeah. Steve's a pretty little BAMF, too. Even if he doesn't realize it himself. Poor guy's kind of down in the dumps. Now, I want to make something clear. I'll repeat some things, too. STEVE-CENTRIC MOSTLY, STEVE IS KIND OF BAMF MAYBE ALTHOUGH HE'S A MODEST LITTLE SHIT, AND NO HE DOES NOT HAVE MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES, HE'S JUST ACTING MOST OF THE TIME, AND WHEN HE'S ACTING LIKE CAPTAIN AMERICA IT DESCRIBES HIM AS SUCH. THIS WILL BE EXPLAINED IN THIS CHAPTER. Okay. Thank you. I really hope you guys like it. I hate to be that person- but somehow this made me cry a little. Perhaps it was this and the thought of more Steve angst. I find that's very easy to do. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. By the way, how to do linebreak? I don't know how. Thanks.\**_

Sometimes he wakes up, and he can almost feel the shock waves, hear the screaming. Smell the blood in coppery mists wafting over the battlefield that's just outside his tent. But then he hears a robotic voice asking if he needs assistance, as his heart rate has gone up, and feels the soft, warm blankets and knows that he's not in the war.

He'll get up, get dressed, shave, everything. Then run like the time he did after that good doctor was shot and he was chasing after the first HYDRA operative he had properly met. These times when he runs, though, he isn't chasing after anyone but his own shadow. And no one suicides- except perhaps him. He doesn't die. Not on the outside. Just returns to the tower.

Sometimes Tony's there, in the mornings. With black rings around his eyes and looking pale, voice somewhat raspy. He would think Tony was sick, but he knew by now Tony was just not sleeping again. He, as always, urged Tony to put the coffee down and get some sleep. Once in awhile Tony listened. This was one of those times. That was fine. That way, he was only called 'Cap' and 'Spangles' and 'Cap-sicle' a few times. He doesn't hate Tony. He doesn't think he can hate anyone. Ever since the ice, he doesn't think he can feel like that. He's still feeling like he hasn't defrosted yet.

It's funny how they don't call him by name- no one does. If he didn't know any better, it was like they didn't know his real name. It was possible. He didn't mind much. It told him what he was for, here, and that was to fight. Soldier on. Here, he was Captain America. In this time, that was who he was. There was no one called Steve Rogers. That man had been forgotten. He had died with the rest of his generation and fellow troops, sacrificing himself to the cause like all the others. Surely Steve Rogers would be less numb than the imitation he felt he was today.

The only times he felt like Steve Rogers anymore was in the dreams, and in the- he had asked JARVIS, one day, keeping it confidential, pleading for the AI to keep the question even from Tony. To his surprise, the computer had. He knew it, too, because he was sure that if any of them heard about what he had asked, he would be off the team instantly. He had asked about shell shock. It was called PTSD now. Why were there so many acronyms in his life? There sure hadn't been that many when he was Steve Rogers and everything was so much more simple and happy. Apparently he had shell shock. It made sense. When he awoke sometimes, he wasn't smelling blood or hearing the thorns, but feeling shockwaves, seeing flashes. Shells. And every time for some reason he was a little shocked by them.

He couldn't let anyone know. They didn't even know his name. Or what he was really like.

" _Now, Steve,"_ He remembered a Commando saying. " _All of you, listen up, but you especially, Steve."_

They had known his name back then. To them, he wasn't merely Captain America, he was something better. He was Steve Rogers, a man who would easily choose death if it would save his friends. Someone who was loyal and kind and not afraid to stand up to the big guys if it meant the little guys could find their way. Who went to the end of the line and farther.

" _If an ally captures you, and demands you work for them- and you have pretty much no choice but to- only let them see the side they want to. You, Steve, show them the essential Captain America. Don't really joke, don't smile really, just do as they ask and don't let a hint of your real self peek out. Show them the soldier that commands, not the nice guy that asks. It'll work. Then, just find a way back to us. We'll find each other, don't worry."_

He was following that advice to the letter. They didn't even know his name. Or perhaps Captain America was his name now, and someone called Steve Rogers had truly been left behind, and all that was left was the solemn, order following soldier of a patriotic hero from the past. It was hard at first not to be like Steve Rogers. Not to slip up- but at the same time it was so easy. He followed his old companion's advice. His old team's advice. Howling Commandos. That was a team. This… while it had its good sides, it wasn't. It wasn't his team.

"You're such a stick in the mud, Spangles," Tony had groaned. He had cast a snide look at him before shooting, "The angst isn't going to get you free passes much longer, Cap."

He didn't want free passes. He wanted to… go home. He had realized too late he had said that last part out loud, and Tony had been hanging back and frowning at him, this time not in anger but… curiosity, he was sure. There was nothing else Tony would feel towards him. He had passed it off as saying that it was a poem he read. Tony had reminded him of it. Tony had scoffed but fell for it.

Because Captain America wasn't a jokester. And perhaps they thought he couldn't lie. He had acted that way a few times- and while Steve Rogers disliked lying, Captain America did what had to be done, as long as his superiors didn't mind it.

The man had lingered for a moment longer, though. Simply watching as Captain America, in civvies, had sat down to simply sit and stare at nothing. Then Tony had left, mumbling something under his breath. He hadn't looked back, and Captain America wasn't looking to watch. The others had come back to the tower soon after. They had been giving him the normal glances. They sort of trusted him. He wasn't trying to get them to. It wasn't his orders to make them like him, nor was it in his commando's instructions. They followed his orders in battle. They trusted him that much. He supposed they trusted him. He had seen all the moments when he could have killed them, and there were many. Even for Natasha.

They trusted the 'Good Soldier'. It wasn't like Steve Rogers hadn't been that. That was in fact who Steve Rogers had been, only Steve Rogers had been so much more, too- and could have been even more than that. But the 'Good Soldier' was all Captain America was.

Sometimes he'd stare, instead of at nothing, at the drawer where he had placed the pistol. It was a beaut. From the war, too. His. Bucky had given it to him as a gift. It was funny how the others in this time somehow believed he could handle no other weapon than himself or his shield. They hadn't even tried to make him learn any other. If he had been Steve Rogers, he would have laid in wait, letting them believe until a precise moment. Surprise them again and again on all the different weapons he knew how to use or could figure out easily, or just do a gory show of them all at once in the middle of a fight where he could afford to goof off. He wasn't sure which- Steve Rogers wouldn't have been sure which.

Captain America always pulled his punches somewhat. Steve Rogers would've also done that- most of the time. He would have slipped into anger or desperation during battles more and gone all out, despite the gory mess his full strength could create. A punch to the ribs could shunt the spine out of the body somewhat, the spindly bones protecting the lungs and heart eagerly caving inwards with horrible cracks and creaks and piercing their vulnerable victims in the split second before the body flew and blood splurted. No one in this time had seen that.

He was Captain America, and he did not allow himself to feel like that was acceptable for others to see, even if he killed anyways and his normal style was actually more painful for his victims anyways. Steve Rogers had always been slightly appeased from his guilt by that, when he didn't pull his punches. Captain America knew that the carnage was not what the people in this time and place wanted to see. So he put that with Steve Rogers, back in the ice, and always pulled his punches.

He didn't do that with his words. Those came out sharp and cutting and saying things Steve Rogers would have gotten mad at him for saying. Steve Rogers would have gotten along with Tony. Everybody in this time, really. There were few Steve Rogers couldn't get along with. At least on the good side. Even Fury was someone Steve could've had a soft spot for. Steve Rogers could have beat them all in the prank war that swept the tower only a few weeks ago. Instead, Captain America had scowled and scolded and avoided them all until it was over. He hated it- but Captain America didn't hate. Captain America wasn't much like Steve Rogers- but at the same time, they were almost twins.

It was as if Steve Rogers was the body, the little guy who had the real smarts and the quirks and the happiness, and Captain America was the cold, unyielding shield protecting him. But Captain America couldn't protect Steve Rogers, and the latter was mentally in ice. In the dreams, he could be Steve again- and his teammates, his _friends,_ had found him. And they were happy again. He was free then, even in the war. Because to him, the war had been the most he had lived- and it still was. He longed for the dreams. For his friends to find him like they had promised long ago, when they had told him to act like Captain America. He knew they would. He loved the dreams. The nightmare was waking up. Because Captain America felt cold. Steve Rogers felt warm. Steve Rogers was who he was, and Captain America was a mask he knew he would probably never get to discard. They would find him.

His Howling Commandos always found each other.

They would find him, and he would be happy again, Steve Rogers running with his men, with his gun and military uniform amidst the explosions and bullets, smiling because he figured he might as well have a pretty corpse, and damn if that joke Bucky had said earlier wasn't still hilarious and still in the back of his head as he leaped over barbed wire.

Then he would wake up, and his smile would be gone.

Captain America didn't smile.

Steve Rogers cried tears of ice where no one could see him.

His team lay still in the earth, and he would never be found.

They always found each other.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello again! Now, before anyone gets angry- which you have every right to do- I apologize. Junior year has hit me hard. I've been having tough times in my family too- when bad things come they come in threes, that sort of thing. (Only way more than three, but...) Anyways. I'm back with a renewed vigor. I'm going to start publishing more chapters of RECOVERY, too, as well as putting out a HP fanfic, once I get it settled. (My problem is choosing which to start publishing.) Anyways! This is short, but the next will be a good long one. Mostly this was to get back into the mood of it and to inform you all of this. Also, guys? Please tell me how to use the linebreak? It's been slowly driving me nuts.)**_

He's aware of the looks he gets sometimes. Fury sometimes gives him long, measuring ones that make Captain America stare back resolutely. He's not sure what happened to that one eye, but he latches his gaze onto the good one and the eyepatch so he doesn't get that odd cross-eyed look the others do when they try to match Fury's gaze.

Eventually they both look away as if on agreement.

Captain America doesn't quite understand the looks he gets from them all.

Steve Rogers thinks he does- but the little guy can remember that while the shield doesn't feel the need to.

Steve Rogers would've held his gaze or looked away on purpose. That's what being a good man meant. Captain America didn't bother. Soldiers didn't back down unless it was orders. Soldiers demanded respect.

Good men could see it without dragging it out.

Tony looks blatantly, but he mostly doesn't bother meeting eyes. Instead he watches movements of hands, the width of his tread, how Captain America holds himself. Like one of Tony's machines. Neither are sure what to think. Captain America doesn't like it. It's the gaze of a man waiting for a slip. Steve Rogers doesn't like it because he doesn't like people worrying about him, even in the odd way Tony tries to do it- but he's a bit touched by the fact that Tony cares.

Natasha just watches. Captain America's just reassured that he's got her trust. Steve's happy when she breaks out of that ice mask that's so ingrained on her and stops watching sometimes.

Bruce's gaze is gentle, lingering, looking for hurt. Captain America is glad that he's got a medic who knows what to look for. Bruce is probably the one who can see Steve, though, if any of the others can. It's unnerving, and Captain America stays away a little. Steve Rogers just sees a good friend.

Clint's interesting- Steve Rogers likes him. He would've been interesting to play pranks on, and his sense of humor is something that's easy to get along with. He's talented, hardworking, funny, and is an understanding man. Captain America appreciates his talent and his effectiveness.

Coulson is someone that Captain America's used to, even if the whole trading card thing is new. Steve Rogers… is a bit nonplussed. He respects the man- it's hard not to. He mourned when it was believed he was dead. He was happy when he learned he was alive. Coulson's calmed down a bit, though, although he still seems impressed. Neither is sure, though, who he's impressed by. Does he see through the shield, or is it simply the stars and stripes blinding him like they have many others?

It's enough, all of them, to ensure that Steve Rogers isn't willing to be seen by most. None. Only JARVIS has his secret- and why JARVIS hasn't told, Captain America has no idea. Steve Rogers thinks he might, but he's discovered he has a penchant for humanizing beings like JARVIS. They still get along well, though.

It's enough for now.

Although that's an odd statement, because it hasn't really been enough since the early twentieth century.


	3. Chapter 3

_**And another update- these will be somewhat short, yes, but they're kind of short bits. Anyways- enjoy. (I don't own anything.)**_

There were a few times when the mask dropped. Steve Rogers would be there, and every time he appeared and the shield of Captain America lowered to reveal the little guy, Steve Rogers, he would always get some odd looks.

Clint almost always got hurt somehow- but sometimes he got hurt pretty bad. There was one time when Captain America had heard the news that Clint was nearly unresponsive and in an enemy zone, and almost immediately Steve Rogers was sprinting to cover and aid his fallen ally. "Clint! I'm going over to you- can you specify your location?"

He got static, and ran all the faster, past corpses of enemy agents, through the empty hallways of a facility that used to be bleach white but now was stained with infrequent splatters of blood, some rubble some dirt and dust, but all Steve Rogers is looking for is Clint Barton.

The static's still buzzing. For an instance he thinks maybe it's his intercom, and maybe this is something Tony forgot to mention in his snarky half-lesson about the little device in his ear, but he hears occasional shouts of battle from it and he knows the static isn't from him.

Another door. Another.

The white, plastery dust floats by and he remembers Bruce off-handedly telling him about asbestos and how it actually was bad for him. That had been a bit of a shocker. For a moment it seems like time is slow- Which is odd, considering that it had been so _fast, once-_ and the ghostly flecks of _things_ float by while his footsteps are muffled, far away while his blue eyes gaze ahead. It's ethereal for a moment.

There, there's a flash of purple in a room, and he sees a ragged, bruised and battered archer with only a snapped arrow to defend himself, glaring at the three men surrounding him, and Steve Rogers doesn't hesitate.

He bursts in and slams his shield against the back of the first enemy's head, and moved onto the next smoothly as the unconscious form crumpled. The next gets a knee, the next a punch, the next.

The next.

They're all down within seconds, and Steve Rogers is going over to his bloody teammate, carefully taking the broken arrow from him, and noting the shock.

"Cap?" Clint gasps, shocked as he stares both at his teammate and the downed forms behind him, but Steve shakes his head at him, picking up an abandoned chair and making Clint sit down on it, noting how his pupils are dilated oddly.

"You've got a concussion. Sit down, Clint, I already called backup."

Clint does sit down, but his gaze is still on the men behind Steve, and he says suddenly, "I think that one's dead, Cap."

Steve spares a glance, and sure enough, one's not breathing. Steve knows that this isn't the first he's killed in this time, and most certainly not the first he's ever killed- the _war, how it made innocent men into cold-blooded killers, honored by their countries, lauded by their people, then forgotten while they are haunted by the ghosts of the ones they've slayed-_ He looks back and asks, "Where on your head did they hit you? Did they get you anywhere else?"

He's ignoring how the hazel eyes are focused behind him, when they aren't hazy and looking nowhere in particular, but it's for naught. "No, no, Cap, look," Clint slurs, pointing behind Steve. "I think you killed that one."

Steve nods, but says, "Focus, Clint. Where are you hit?"

"But-"

"Where?"

Clint looks up at him, and there's pure confusion in those brown eyes. "But you're Captain America…"

Steve scoffs, and glances back at the bodies again. "And if I hadn't moved in that moment, you would've gotten shot. Clint, I'm a World War Two vet. You think I haven't killed before?"

Clint stares at him. Steve knows it's too much right now for the archer. He knows even in normal circumstances, it would be a shock. He's not sure why they all believe he's such a good person, such an angel that he's never sullied his hands with death and murder, but he has. Steve gets him up, and they head out the door.

When Clint's recovered, he doesn't say another thing about it, and Steve would think he had forgotten what with the concussion, but he sees the odd looks. Captain America remains ignorant of their significance.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'm back. I don't own Avengers. I'm updating my other stories. Have a nice day, readers.**_

Tony was prone to having shell shock. The first time Captain America had seen it, he had dropped the mask, and Steve Rogers ran to help the man.

Tony had been shaking, gasping, hands firmly covering the arc reactor in his chest. Steve dropped to his knees beside the man, because Tony had dropped and was laying on the ground, and patted Tony's shoulder, which got no response. Tony's lips were turning blue, and his breath was catching as he hyperventilated, tears leaking unbidden from glazed brown eyes that stared into a distance that Steve knew he wouldn't see.

Steve picked him up, not tossing him over his shoulder but in more of a cradle. He wasn't embarrassed and he knew Tony was too out of it to care. Was this the PTSD- shell shock- that he had been having? Was this what he looked like, minus the white-fingered hands desperately sealing out the light coming from the arc reactor?

Clint came in, and immediately the man stared, and Steve yelped, "He's having some sort of attack!"

Clint rushed over, then, and Steve noticed the fear in his eyes as the archer glanced at Steve's face, which meant he must not be doing as great of a job keeping calm as he had hoped. Oh well.

"It's a panic attack, Cap," the man soothed, leading Steve over to a cot in the corner of the lab and Steve dumped Tony on it gently. "We just need to get him to breath and calm down."

Steve nodded, then asked, "JARVIS, do you have any protocol for getting Stark out of an attack?"

"Good thinking," Clint murmured from beside him, as JARVIS answered, "He will be needing some time, as well as aspirin. Dry, please."

Steve nodded and was over at the medicine cabinet he had enforced to be in the lab after some incidents in a blink of an eye, running his fingers over the pill bottles until he found the one clearly labelled, 'Aspirin'. He dug that out, and got three pills out of that, bringing them over to the bedside table and putting them into a clean tissue on it.

He doesn't question the absence of the water to wash them down. He figures Tony doesn't need it anyways- and there's plenty of water pooling around the floor of the lab. He _knows_ Tony holds some dislike for it, has seen it in the man's face. Tony thinks he hides it so well, but Steve Rogers watches his allies. Not for betrayal, weakness, like Captain America would.

Steve watches for a way to help, to be the good man. "JARVIS," he addresses the ceiling, standing over the reflective surface of the small pool of water. It's not showing him,since he's not at the right angle, but it shows the clean white interior of the lab Tony has. "Can you drain the water out?"

"I can," the machine answers, and it almost sounds like relief in the AI's tone. "It is being done."

Sure enough the pond of water is slowly draining, accompanied by an odd gurgle that Steve shudders slightly at.

He's found he's not the fondest of the clear liquid either. Not since- _the water swirls and he's trapped because the ice is forming just as fast, and he's laid himself down in the seat, submitting himself to it before the plane crashed, because he knows his fate. He knows he will never have his date, never learn to dance at the Stork Club, never step on Peggy's toes as he so feared just a bit ago. But he simply watches in detached peace as the water begins to swirl over his head, clearing his face, rising and rising. The ghostly white tendrils of the ice follow soon after, chasing the near-clear water level, and Steve can_ feel _the ice beginning to affect him, so he closes his eyes and stills.-_

But his fear is lesser than Tony's, and he has no problem with the water as it drains from the room, no issue with the short burst from the innocent hose lying on the ground as the water still inside it obeyed gravity and splattered onto his shoulder.

He's the one who cleans that up, later, after Tony wakes up and they've already left, knowing that the man would be embarrassed and not want to know who did it for him. Perhaps he thought it was JARVIS. Or Dummy. Steve knew Tony didn't suspect him.


End file.
